A cold gust of air carrying the distinctive smell of damp air, and a mixture of something aromatic was the first thing Friedrich perceived the moment he stepped into the crypt.
In response to the overwhelming rush of scents, his nose wrinkled slightly.
As if noticing their arrival, one of the priests, a man of average height and build slowly turned around.
On sighting Father Bekker, a flicker of surprise passed his eyes, quickly followed by a frown when he saw Friedrich.
Having deduced the reason for his colleague's displeasure, Father Bekker clarified, "This is Friedrich Kata. The sole survivor of the port attack. He's come to see his family."
The range of expressions on the faces of the priests in the room immediately softened.
One of them in particular, a priest with a thin frame that made him seem taller than he was, placed a hand on Friedrich's shoulder, and said, "My condolences Herr Friedrich."
"Thank you, Father." Friedrich replied, subtly shifting his shoulder to free it from the man's grasp.
Although he was surprised by the fact that he still recoiled from physical touch, a habit he'd carried over from his past life, he quickly pushed it back down.
The priest nodded, then stretched out his hand toward Father Bekker.
After being handed the ceramic jar of preservatives, he walked toward a row of tables in the distance.
Only then did Friedrich notice the human silhouettes laid out on them — a sight obscured until now by the room's poor lighting.
That must be where the bodies are laid before cleaning and embalming.
A short tap on his shoulder, broke the thought, returning Friedrich's attention to the room — specifically Father Bekker who was already making his way toward a corner of the crypt where figures wrapped in white linen could be seen resting on the floor.
The moment his eyes settled on one of the figures, which looked like that of a child, a sudden jolt of pain speared through his head, instantly turning his vision blurry.
He shuffled backward, leaning against one of the pillars in the crypt.
Almost immediately, a cold sensation ran through the length of his arm briefly elevating the drowsiness.
Father Bekker turned around, and upon seeing Friedrich, he asked, "Are you okay, Herr Friedrich?"
Slowly reaching for his temples, Friedrich replied, "It's... it's nothing, Father. The chill, the smell... it must have gotten to me more than I thought." He pushed himself upright, forcing his breathing to steady.
Father Bekker walked closer to him, his face a mask of paternal concern. "The body often rebels where the spirit is heaviest."
"Perhaps," He said, his eyes sweeping across the dimly lit crypt. "perhaps it is too soon for you to be here."
"You may be right, Father." Friedrich nodded, pushing himself off the pillar, with the help of Father Bekker. "Father Forgive me. I... I cannot do this now."
His gaze flickered toward the small, linen-wrapped form once more. A fresh, dull throb flared between his eyes, prompting him to look away.
"There is nothing to forgive, my son. Grief has its own timeline. Come, let us go back upstairs." Father Bekker said, while leading Friedrich upstair.
The moment they stepped outside the church's building, the haze clinging to Friedrich's vision completely cleared up.
Breathing in the warm air, Friedrich turned to his side, and said, "Thank you, Father Bekker. For your help. I shall never forget it."
"No problem," the priest replied. After reminding Friedrich not to forget their appointment tomorrow, and offering a word of advice, he dismissed him.
Watching Friedrich's figure turn a corner, disappearing from view, Father Bekker sighed softly, then headed back into the church.
•••
Thirty minutes later, when the sun had climbed higher and shone with more intensity, a large wooden carriage pulled by two black horses trotted into the northernmost corner of the Church of Saint Peter's square.
The coachman, a middle-aged man with a somewhat crooked nose, quickly yanked back the reigns.
Neigh!
The two horses let out a short, defiant neigh, nevertheless, they slowed to a halt. The sound attracted the attention of some of the passerby's, drawing their gaze toward the carriage.
Under the gaze and murmurs of the handful of people in the square, Johann Keese, the first son of Heinrich Keese stepped out from the carriage's left side.
His elder sister Hannah, and two younger siblings followed a moment later. Their parents, Heinrich and Maria, stepped out from the other side of the carriage, eyes scanning the church square.
Quickly regrouping, they began walking toward the church's entrance, while the coachman steered the carriage to a shaded section of the square.
As they neared the open, twin wooden doors, the hunched, elderly bell ringer emerged from the shadow of the bell tower, sweeping the stone pathway with a coarse broom.
He looked up at the sound of their approach, his weathered face breaking into a smile of recognition. "Good morning, Herr Heinrich."
"Briefly scanning the rest of the family, he went on, "And what might I ask brings you and your family by?"
Clearing his throat, Heinrich replied, "I heard about the port attack and I came to pay my condolences to a friend of mine."
"I see," The elderly man muttered under his breath. Gesturing toward the church, he continued, "You don't mind waiting inside while I go get a priest do you?"
"Not at all." Maria chimed in, waving her hand dismissively.
"Good. Wait here then." Dropping the words, he slowly turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.
Taking a deep breath, Heinrich lead his family through the twin doors.
The church's interior was a mixture of cool air emanating from the its walls, and the warm light of the sun falling through its stained windows.
The kaleidoscope of light from the windows, pooled across the floor, and rows of pews, casting the saintly images and symbols depicted on them in warped silhouettes.
As they walked, Johann's gaze was inevitably drawn to the stained glass windows and the images on them, then to the intricate stonework of the vaulted ceiling.
Hannah on the other hand, shuffled through the aisle, almost absentmindedly. Her knuckles subconsciously tightening around her gown.
From the corner of her eyes, she noticed the shadowed niche where the organ usually sat. A sight that would've otherwise interested her, but not today.
Ignoring the handful of people scattered on the pews, Heinrich lead his family to a seat a stone throw from the entrance.
•••
Five minutes later, Father Bekker walked into the church building, with the elderly bell ringer in tow. The soft echo of their feet clicking against the floor announced their arrival.
Heinrich and Maria stood when they heard the sound, and walked toward the two men.
"Good morning, Herr Keese." Father Bekker greeted, as they met up, extending his hand.
"Morning Father Bekker." Heinrich nodded, as he received the handshake. "And please call me Herr Heinrich. My father, God bless his soul was Herr Keese."
Father Bekker nodded. His gaze briefly swept over the Keese children in the background before returning. "Herr Schultz mentioned why you've come. He didn't say who."
Perhaps tired of the long-winded exchange, Maria chimed in, "The Kata's, Father Bekker. We've come for the Kata's."
Stroking his chin, Father Bekker murmured, "The Kata's. The name rings a bell." He paused suddenly. "Is there a Friedrich in the family?"
Heinrich nodded. "Yes, the first son." Recalling the sudden pause before the question, he asked, a slight frown on his face. "What happened? Is there a problem Father?"
"Well you're in luck," Father Bekker replied with a smile. "The boy survived, however—"
"Sur—survived?" Maria gasped, interrupting Father Bekker.
She turned to Heinrich, her hands gripping his arms as if to steady herself. "Did you hear that dear? Friedrich is alive. He's alive!"
The children, who had drawn closer due to the commotion, exchanged looks of stunned silence, then dawning hope.
Seeing the overwhelming relief on the family's face, Father Bekker's lips subconsciously curled into a smile, as he silently waited for them to recollect themselves.
With his hands now holding Maria's, Heinrich stared at Father Bekker, his mind struggling to reconcile the news with the absolute finality he'd felt moments before. "How? How is that possible? The letter I received said everyone was ki—"
Before he could complete his words, Maria broke free, her hands quickly grabbing Father Bekker's robes. "Where — where is he, Father? Is he well?"
Looking at the Keese couple and the palpable joy on their face, Father Bekker shook his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. "That's what I was about to tell you before I was interrupted. He was discharged from our care about half an hour ago."